No Forgetting You
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *AU* An explosion sends Hermione off-course, mid-Apparation, & straight into the path of a man with no memory, only his mission. Bucky recalls nothing before waking as the Winter Soldier, never questioning his programming, until a wild-haired witch crashes into his life. They try to continue on with their lives as they were, but Fate has other plans. ON HOLD
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes** **:**

 **1)** This fic is a canon-divergent for _Harry Potter_ , and AU for _Marvel_ (meaning Bucky's storyline is not dependent on/divergent from any particular MCU film plot). Some elements from the canon storylines will still have taken place/be present, others will not. The specifics will become clearer as the story progresses.

 **2)** Chapter lengths will vary, as I only make my chapters long as is strictly necessary to accomplish whatever they need to within the story—sometimes that will be 4k words, sometimes it will be less than 2k, but the length of the chapter will never have an effect on the quality of the story **.**

 **3)** As with all my fics, the status of this story is Updated Sporadically, because of both the number of fanfictions I have, and a need to split what writing time I have between fanfictions and novel work.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER** **:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ or the _Marvel Cinematic Universe_. Any affiliated characters or canon components are the property of their respective franchise owners.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Hermione didn't like this one little bit. Shrinking back into the shadows of the tunnel, she closed her eyes and focused, recalling the details of the map Harry had shown her.

No, she had not made many missteps; she'd taken every turn exactly as planned. She should've already happened upon the sunken Muggle military outpost where these Dark wizards were holed up, and yet, she'd encountered nothing. Not a whisper of energy, nor the faintest rumblings of magic.

Either they'd warded themselves so heavily they were able to deceive even her . . . . Or Harry'd gotten this one wrong.

And Harry had _never_ steered her wrong on a mission, not once since he'd taken over as Head Auror.

Opening her eyes, she breathed deep and started down the tunnel, once more. Although—holding her wand at the ready, and gritting her teeth—if Harry was wrong, and she found no one, at all, had been here since the Muggles had abandoned the place fifty-some odd years ago, she was _so_ giving him an earful when she returned to the Ministry!

She moved on careful, measured footfalls as she neared a bend in the passageway. She could swear there were flashes of light coming from further along—brief, and so very faint, she wasn't certain it might not be her imagination. She'd bloody well been told after her last mission to take a break for a few weeks, but would she listen? No, of course not, because she was Hermione damn Granger.

Holding in a sigh, she refrained from letting her shoulders slump as she crept along. According to the report, there were supposed to be only two Dark wizards lurking in here, which was why she'd refused backup—she could handle a small group, no need to waste resources—but that didn't mean it would be wise to let them get the drop on her, which was a definite possibility if she wasn't careful.

As the light became brighter, she felt it. Low and indistinct, but finally, she sensed the hum of magic rumbling through the place.

Listening close as she moved along, Hermione could _swear_ she was starting to hear whispered voices. And it sounded like more than two of them.

* * *

The Soldier halted, surveying the location. Secluded, wooded, _good_ —limited the potential for witnesses. The entrance to the underground facility was close, the mission simple. Something in there was producing an energy HYDRA did not understand, nor even recognize—he was not supposed to know that second part, but he'd heard because the officers often spoke around him, dropping information that did not concern him.

Infiltrate the facility, secure and extract the foreign energy source, eliminate any enemy agents who offered resistance.

Turning, he started for the facility's entrance; the gated tunnel was well-hidden to anyone not searching for it, but then that's what blueprints were for. He could feel the part of him that resisted his missions stirring as he moved.

He did not dare let his handlers know of it. They would consider him a liability, and he was not. He knew. He could suppress the questioning voice. He could rein in the curiosity—indistinct, but troubling, nonetheless—that sometimes plagued him.

He knew better. He knew simply asking _why_ was not permitted. Soldiers didn't question their orders, and so he snuffed out that little voice, time and again.

There had been something before this, hadn't there? The Soldier ignored the little, niggling voice as he walked, his steps silent but steady. There was more . . . before the missions, before the orders . . . . But it _was_ just beyond the edge of what he could remember. He could not permit himself to expend further time or energy on it than that of the barest fleeting thought.

And so he snuffed that out, time and again, too.

He paused, midstride. Something was _wrong_ here. A hum of energy rolled across his skin and raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. There was no question—this sensation would lead him to whatever he'd come for.

The Soldier dropped his hand to his sidearm as he reached the entrance. The gates hung open, an oversight, perhaps, but certainly careless for people trying to hide. The closer he got to the tunnel's opening, however, the more inclined he was to give his head a good, clearing shake.

He had to . . . . He blinked hard, shaking his head, again. Infiltrate, secure . . . . Secure and extract. Forcing a nod, he gritted his teeth and searched for the words.

Secure, extract, eliminate . . . . The inexplicable disorientation would pass, he was sure. He scrambled for more words, trying to piece his mission back together. Secure and extract _what_? _Who_ was he to eliminate?

An annoying sense of frustration simmered in the corners of his mind. If he continued on, it would clear for him, he was sure; he would remember what to do, if he moved toward his objective.

Yes, carry out the mission. Only that mattered.

Ducking his head to step into the tunnel, he was stalled by another subdued, rolling hum of that strange energy. Another wash across his skin, another struggle to recall his mission.

Backpedaling out into the forest clearing that preceded the tunnel, once more, he gave his head a shake. It was _this_. . . .

Whatever was producing this energy, _it_ was causing his disorientation. The source he sought _was_ the thing forcing the mission parameters from his mind.

A sound of irritation rumbling in the back of his throat, he force himself to recall. _Infiltrate, secure, extract, eliminate._

He took a step back toward the tunnel entrance when he heard it. A female voice shouting from somewhere within.

A sudden shock of power sent him skittering backward. He dug in his heels and leaned into the unexpected wave of pressure, maintaining his footing.

Straightening as the blast of energy died away, he blinked hard and shook his head. Eyes widening, he looked around. He hadn't the faintest idea what was happening.

 _What the . . . ?_

Somewhere above him, a scream rent the night air. He tipped back his head, looking toward the shrill, panicked noise.

* * *

Hermione felt like she'd stepped onto the set of a low-budget horror film as she finally reached the end of the tunnel. Inside, the metal interior, which she was certain once gleamed, was caked with grime and clear signs of the facility's decades of disuse.

Beyond the central hub, she could see corridors branching off, darkened offices, utterly obsolete computer banks, and even internal towers jutting out from the rock face. In the foreground of the main chamber, however, four cloaked figures gathered around something that gave off a pulsing glow. She could see from the space between their bodies that the pulse alternated in intensity, the hum of magic it gave off was _random_ , at best . . . .

Whatever those wizards were tinkering with, it was unstable. Fantastic.

Four Dark wizards, and an unstable artifact of unknown origin and purpose? Damn, there was every chance she could handle this on her own, but she refused to give up a mission to her own borderline-reckless confidence.

She needed to Apparate back to the Ministry and return with backup.

One of the figures snapped their head up, then.

Hermione couldn't make out the person's face beneath the hood. She also couldn't spare a moment to wonder how they'd picked up on her presence, as she'd made no noise, and any ward in place to alert them to intruders would've signaled them the moment she'd set foot in here.

The figure drew their wand, the action calling the attention of the others. They seemed to turn as one to face her, but the thing between them rumbled at the sudden neglect.

"It's not done, yet!" one of them—a woman—shouted.

Hermione ducked, barely dodging a curse the first of them sent flying at her. She struck back, disarming him—her?—but as quick, two of the others reached for their weapons.

"Kill her and be done with it," the other witch said, panic edging her voice as she held her hands over the artifact. Hermione couldn't make out anything more than that intermittent glow—blueish-white, was it?—and a pyramidal shape.

The artifact rumbled again, and the others turned back toward it.

Hermione backpedaled a step, her eyes widening. If they were ignoring an intruder to focus on the object . . . an object that was giving off so many random, uncontrolled energy spikes that she was sure the walls were probably teeming with magic, by now . . . .

Oh, this was _not_ good.

Hermione Apparated just as a bright, soundless, flash rolled through the main chamber.

The twisting rush of magical travel ended nearly as fast as it began. _Too fast_ , she realized. She'd been jettisoned from her path by whatever had just happened down there, forcing her out of Apparition much too soon.

The precise moment the twisting in her stomach subsided, it was replaced with an awful lurching as the witch found herself plummeting through the air. The unexpected fall tore a startled shriek from her throat.

Somewhere below her, mixed with the rush of the wind in her ears, she could swear she'd just heard someone breathe the words, "Oh, shit."

She was falling so fast, she didn't have time to get off any charm that might cushion her landing. Wincing as her scream died on her lips, Hermione braced for impact, squeezing her eyes shut.

The witch heard an _oof_ in her ear as she collided with something. But whatever it was, it stopped her short of hitting the probably even more unforgiving forest floor.

Not that that was good news for her legs, as they seemed to curl over an iron bar, or something equally as unyielding as she landed. The sensation of metal striking flesh and bone jarred her. Yet, she felt the distinct curve of an arm around her back.

She wasn't stupid . . . she might be in denial in this moment, but she was anything _but_ stupid. She knew someone had managed to catch her. That didn't explain the pain behind her knees, of course.

Forcing open her eyes, Hermione met the blue-eyed gaze of a total stranger. A rather handsome total stranger, to be sure, though, he could certainly do with a shave and a brush through his shoulder-length brown hair.

He seemed as surprised as she as he stared back at her. Actually, Hermione thought he seemed even more shocked by their circumstances than she did. Well, fine, so it wasn't _every_ day a girl popped out of the sky and landed on someone.

Tearing her gaze from his, she looked about. He had his right arm curled around her back, holding her to him, his left arm under her legs. Just his arm? Why the hell did that hurt so much?

But then she saw the glint of silver along the limb. Metal fingertips peeking out from the tops of a fingerless black leather glove curved around the top of her knee.

 _Oh, that was . . . okay_. Hermione returned her attention to their surroundings. They were just outside the tunnel's entrance.

Bollocks. She had to get back in there and see what was left of the artifact, the dark wizards and witch or witches, of anything, really.

"Um, thank . . . thank you," she said as she climbed down out of his arms. It seemed awfully lame, but she had no idea what else to say to him.

He glanced around, a bit of a frantic look in his eyes as she turned away and started for the gated entrance not far from them. "Hey, wait!"

 _He's American?_ She thought, arching a brow as she turned to look at him. What the bloody hell was this man doing here, anyway?

Now that he had her attention, he didn't know what to ask first, so he settled for the simplest thing. "What is this place?"

Hermione glanced back at the tunnel before taking a step toward him, her movement ginger due to the pain in her legs. "You don't know where you are?"

He swallowed hard, shifting his weight. After an uncomfortable moment of holding her gaze in silence, he shook his head.

The flash of light! Had the blast of energy from that artifact done something to this man? It seemed the only explanation, unless this area was _typically_ rife with wandering amnesiacs, and no one had seen fit to tell her.

The witch circled him on slow, quiet footsteps, her gaze appraising as she looked him over. Muggle combat fatigues—black—firearms in plain sight—a small side arm and a larger gun, though she had no working knowledge of firearms to assign it a name, on a strap over his shoulder. And then . . . that metal arm.

Unlike any prosthetic limb she's ever seen, this was a technological work of art, made of precise silver segments. It actually looked _like_ a human arm, down to defined musculature and even the indentation of nails on his fingertips.

Cybernetics . . . ? She'd read about such things, sure, but only in those ludicrous Muggle sci-fi novels her father so fancied.

 _Good God,_ she thought, swallowing around sudden lump of fear in her throat. Was this man some sort of military experiment?

And if so . . . . Could that explosion of magical energy have interfered with his . . . function? Program? She wasn't sure what to call it, but he looked so bewildered her heart wrenched a little.

His helpless expression was such a wild contradiction to the rest of his appearance, that she thought she could not help but be disarmed by it.

"You . . . ." She licked her lips nervously and started again. "You mean you don't know because you can't remember?"

With another uncertain glance around, he pursed his lips and nodded.

"Oh." _God, Hermione, this really isn't the time to be helping out stray Muggle military experiments!_ Not that there ever seemed a time for such a thing, as it was. "Well, what _do_ you remember?"

His brow furrowing, he shook his head as he tried to recall. Something was there, something _just_ beyond the edge of his confused and scattered thoughts.

Then he heard it, only the faintest echo, but _there_. The dull, muffled sound of someone shouting something at him.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he scrambled to catch hold of the memory. His bottom lip jutting outward, he repeated the word in his head once more before he said to the wild-haired young woman standing before him, "I _think_ my name is Bucky?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Bucky frowned, tightening his grip on the gun as he followed her. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he said, darting his gaze around the tunnel as he followed the girl.

* * *

 _"Bucky?" she echoed, watching him nod in response, though his expression was still uncertain. "My name is Hermione. I think I know what happened to you, and I'm_ going _to help you. There is something I need to check, first, though, that might—or might not—give me some insight into what happened to you, okay?"_

 _Once more, he nodded. Then, as she turned to start for the tunnel, again, he said, "Wait."_

 _Hermione looked back over her shoulder. "What is it?"_

 _"I'm going_ with _. . . ." His brow furrowed as he finally took notice of the object gripped in the fingers of her right hand. "Is that what I think it is?"_

 _"A magic wand?"_

 _Tipping his head to one side in question, he shrugged._

 _"You may not have any memory of who you are, but you remember iconic images from popular culture, I suppose that's a good sign." She frowned in thought, he wasn't exactly a typical Muggle, and he was lucky to recall his own name . . . . Perhaps, as long as she could know he would not go blabbing to anyone about her and her_ kind, _she could bend the Statute of Secrecy, just this once._

 _And, really, who was he going to tell? "Now, don't panic, but I'm a witch."_

 _She almost told him not to think she was mad, but given their circumstances, she was rather certain that questioning_ her _sanity was the furthest thing from his mind. She hadn't realized she'd winced as she said that. Not until she found she had to open her eyes to gauge his response. But his attention didn't even seem to be on her. His head was down, and she could not really see the direction of his gaze._

 _"Uh-huh. Nope, not going to panic about that. Although," he said, lifting his metal arm before him, "I am wondering about_ this _!"_

 _Her shoulders hunched at the utter confusion in his voice. Well, she supposed if she suddenly had no memory and found one of her limbs looked like she'd nicked it straight off some high-tech robot, she'd find that the more pressing issue, too._

 _Clearing her throat, she took a step toward him, her free hand outstretched. "Okay, I don't know your circumstances, but we'll figure it out, all right?"_

 _Bucky frowned, again that uncertainty playing across his features. She sounded so sure—he wasn't even sure he should trust her, but he didn't see what other choice he had. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, testing the strange limb, wondering how he'd not noticed it was alien to him until just now._

 _But then . . . ._

 _He swallowed hard, clenching his hand into a fist a few times. "It feels real."_

 _"What? Really?" Her curiosity getting the better of her, she was unable to stop herself from closing the distance between them._

 _His brows shot up at the sweep of her fingertips across his forearm. "I felt that."_

 _For some reason—completely misplaced, given their current situation—a faint blush flared in her cheeks. Dropping her hand back to her side, she met his gaze. "Well, um, perhaps that makes sense? I suppose it's just a matter of connecting sensors to your nerve endings? Otherwise how could you gauge damage, or know when you're making physical contact with_ anything _?"_

 _"Huh," he said, giving his arm another appraising look. That_ did _make sense. She'd already offered to help him and had a keen insight that certainly couldn't hurt._

 _"We should be prepared. There may, or may not, be dark witches or wizards in there, who won't hesitate to kill on-sight." She gestured toward the strap over his shoulder._

 _He'd actually managed to forget that he was armed when he . . . came to? Was that even the right way to think of this? When he found himself here? Maybe that was more accurate._

 _The minimal weight of the firearm slung against his back felt natural, even as he—moving slow, so she was not startled by the motion, despite that he was readying himself on her signal—slipped the weapon over and into his hands. Yes, this felt familiar, he thought. He nodded, jutting his chin toward the tunnel._

 _Hermione drew a breath and let it out slow before she turned, her wand out before her, and started leading the way._

* * *

She glanced over her shoulder at him, noting the way he gripped the gun—in an odd middle-ground between tense and relaxed. She supposed it was no different for how she held her wand when she was ready for, but not actually _in_ , combat.

"Bucky?" she asked, keeping her voice low, as they were nearly to the end of the tunnel.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to ask something of you."

His brows drew upward in question, but he only continued along behind her, his aim steady over her shoulder. He couldn't imagine what she'd be able to ask of him. "Name it."

"Do _not_ shoot me in the arse."

That was how they ended up—the Auror and the Muggle military experiment—pausing, mid-stride, to share a laugh at a woefully inappropriate time.

Catching her breath, Hermione shook her head. "Sorry, didn't mean to break the tension."

Bucky let out one final snicker and shrugged. "Pretty sure we needed it. Anyway, let's move."

Nodding, she started toward the end of the tunnel, once more. While she was positive whoever had been using this place was long gone, or had died in the backlash from that artifact, she was all too aware of her grip on her wand tightening and the sudden silence around her beating at her ears as they emerged into the main chamber of the outpost.

She thought she could sense Bucky stilling behind her as they both scanned the area. One robbed figure lay motionless on the floor, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Just as she had Apparated to safety—or had tried to—they probably had, as well.

Inching toward the robed figure, he knelt down. Hefting the gun in one hand, he reached out with the other, checking for a pulse.

"Thinking you should be happy you got out of here when you did," he said as he withdrew his hand and stood.

The witch could only nod as she lowered her wand and proceeded to the platform where she'd seen her quarry gathered around that strange, blue pyramid. "Cover me while I collect this," she said over her shoulder.

She was strangely aware of Bucky returning his attention to the surrounding area as he shifted his grip on his gun.

The body could stay where it was for the moment—though they would need to take it with them to bar any chance of the others returning to collect their fallen comrade—but she needed to get what remained of this thing, first. If this object was as dangerous as it seemed, she needed every clue she could get her hands on to figure out what it was.

Unfortunately, at the moment, _every clue_ seemed to only be the four sides of the pyramid that had collapsed outward. But the capstone was notably missing.

Retrieving a specially warded capsule from the bag around her wrist, she enlarged it enough to contain the pieces. Even as she levitated them into the container—she didn't want to risk touching any remnant of the artifact with her bare skin until she understood it better—she couldn't help but feel this was a shell.

This had held something _else_ , entirely.

Reshrinking the capsule and its contents, she put it back into her bag. Turning her wand on the body, she cast a stasis charm, preserving any evidence before she said, "We're going to have to take him with us."

As she watched Bucky—again, showing how accustomed he was to taking orders—sling the gun back over his shoulder and scoop up the body, she realized . . . . What the hell _was_ she planning on doing with Bucky, exactly?

Typically, she'd be able to Apparate directly to the Auror's Department—the only designated direct-route safe Apparation area outside of the Minister's office, or that of department heads. But now? She would somehow have to sneak Bucky into her office, and sneak him out, again, as there would be no excuse for her _not_ to bring the evidence directly, and she didn't really want to let Bucky out of her sight, for his own sake.

 _Harry!_ Harry was a department head, who was rarely in his office!

Oh, God, she could only hope he was busy doing something, _anywhere_ else. More than that, she hoped Apparation would not have a negative effect on Bucky, as the blast from the artifact had.

Stepping over to him, she slipped the fingers of her free hand into his. When he looked startled by the gesture, she offered an awkward grin.

"Um, magical travel . . . I should probably warn you to brace yourself. It can be disorienting."

He let out a low, rumbling sigh and hung his head. "Of course it would be."

The witch narrowed her eyes. "Are all amnesiacs snarky?"

Bucky pursed his lips a moment as he shook his head—aware they were conversing as though he _wasn't_ lugging a corpse over one shoulder. "Oh, like _I'd_ know."

Hermione held in a snicker and then Apparated them to Harry's office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As they popped into existence in the middle of an office that was an odd mix of modern and Victorian, in both architecture and furnishing, Hermione immediately pivoted to face Bucky. The witch ignored that familiar ripple of nausea that accompanied Apparition, more concerned about her traveling companion. Blindly stowing her wand, she gripped her free hand around the elbow of his metal arm, her left hand still clasping his right one.

"You okay?"

Blinking hard a few times, he gave his head a shake—worrying her momentarily in the way that it looked like he might be sick for a second, there. After a few breaths, he nodded. "Yeah, that was, um . . . yeah, I'm good. Where are we?"

She relinquished her hold on him as she looked around. Thank Merlin, Harry was elsewhere, but she couldn't know when he was coming back. "My boss' office, and," she spoke as she started rooting about in Harry's belongings, "he's also my best friend. I can explain our, uh, _unique_ situation to him later, but if he were to stumble upon us right now, he'd . . . . Well, he'd be obligated to draw more attention to this than might be any good for either of us. A-ha!"

His brows shot upward as she returned to him with a bundle of multi-hued fabric. He watched the velvety sheen of the material as she shook out what looked like a cloak. Well, he guessed he shouldn't be surprised, what with there being witches and wizards, memory-wiping mystical energy explosions, and magical artifact crap.

"Okay, um, set the body down, would you? I'll have to levitate him to the proper department, anyway. It'll be odd if I walk over there, alone, and then he appears out of nowhere."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but okay." Nodding, he carefully laid the corpse on the ground beside her feet and straightened up. As he did so, he felt her draping the material around his shoulders. "What are you—?"

"Shh, just look down at yourself."

Bucky did as instructed while she pulled the cloak closed around him and then stood on her toes, reaching behind his head to tug the hood down into place. "Oh . . . oh, _what?"_ He could see right through where he knew perfectly well he was standing!

"It's called an Invisibility Cloak. I think the reason for the name should be self-evident."

"I'll say."

She shrugged, disliking that she had to force him into such unfamiliar territory so many times today, but then with his memory loss, she wasn't certain anything could be considered familiar territory for the man. "I'm sorry, I'll answer whatever questions you've got when we're . . . oh, bollocks. I'm going to have to take you home with me."

Sooner than he could offer a response, she waved dismissively. "It's fine, it's fine. Not as if you've got anywhere else to go, now is it? I was only saying I'll answer whatever you want to know once we're sure we're in private and you can take that thing off." After all, it was also hardly as though he could stroll openly about the streets of Muggle London—weapons strapped to him and a gleaming metallic arm that appeared far too futuristic—without drawing unwanted attention their way.

If he really _was_ some sort of experiment, Hermione wasn't certain she wanted him going back to whatever that life was. She didn't imagine it could be an existence much worth calling a life, anyway.

"Okay, so I guess, after y—" Bucky cut himself off when the office door opened behind her.

Her eyes shooting wide at the sound, she whirled on her heel to face Harry as he stepped inside.

"'Mione? You're back, already?" Moving closer, he squinted behind his glasses. "You look exhausted. Should I take it things didn't go as smoothly as you'd thought they would?"

"Well, um . . . ." She shook her head. "I know we should have a formal debriefing, and all, but I'm really wiped out. So, can I possibly just turn over what I found, give you the basics and go get some rest? Debrief first thing in the morning?"

As she'd talked, his gaze had fallen to the floor beside her. "So, _this_ is what you found?"

Wincing, she looked at the body. "Kind of. Um, there were four of them, I think, at least I saw four. I managed to retrieve what was left of the artifact they had, but I have to tell you there was an explosion. It was really just a burst of magical energy, so no physical damage to the surrounding area, or anything of that sort. But I barely made it out. When I came back they were gone, this one was dead on the ground, and the outer shell of the artifact was all that was left." She paused, taking the time to extract the capsule from the bag on her wrist and hold it out to him. "Careful with that. I have no idea what they were doing with it, only that it was extremely powerful, and I think they took something out of it, maybe?"

Eyeing the capsule, he asked as he accepted it, "Wait, so the artifact in here contained _another_ artifact?"

"I don't know that for certain, though it _is_ my best guess at the moment. But I really . . . I really am wiped out, Harry. So . . . ?"

Nodding as he withdrew his wand, he murmured the charm to levitate the body. "Sure, sure. I'll take care of this, but seriously, 'Mione. _First_ thing in the morning, yeah?"

She offered him a grateful smile. "Yeah, absolutely."

In a show of being helpful, she crossed the office, opening the door wide for Harry and his unpleasant parcel. As the wizard directed the body through and then followed it, she looked about the visibly empty office, her expression a bit frantic. "Bucky, c'mon," she murmured under her breath.

She couldn't be sure if he'd moved or not, but she allowed him more than enough seconds to exit. So many, in fact, that Harry turned to look back at her.

"Um, Hermione?" His brows shot up over the wireframes of his glasses. "You coming?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just needed a moment, there."

He frowned as she joined him in the corridor. "You sure you're okay? Maybe we should have you go to the infirmary and—"

"I'm fine, Harry, I promise. I just need some rest, is all, and I'll be good as new."

She just barely refrained from jumping in place as she felt the brush of a hand against hers. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw nothing, but the touch persisted. _Bucky._ Well, he had presence of mind to figure out a way to let her know he was there, that was good. And it was just a simple press against the side of her hand, nothing that would be obvious, by say, her fingers vanishing, or something.

"All right. I'll check in on you later, though. Just to be safe, okay?"

She nodded, offering him a smile. "Of course. See you later, Harry."

Turning toward the lift, she waited until she felt that delicate press against her hand, once more, and then she started forward on measured footfalls. She was deliberate in making it appear as though she was merely tired as she moved, complete with small, lethargic stretches—which she thought probably looked quite odd, given that she was only stretching the side of her body opposite where Bucky was walking, maybe Harry'd think she strained a muscle—and yawns. For a few heartbeats there, she even worried she might be overdoing it a bit.

Luckily, it was late in the day, not very busy, so there weren't many people to risk bumping into. Regardless, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "Please, just stick close to me and try to avoid tripping over anyone."

They entered the lift and started down to the ground floor. Though they were alone the entire way down, she didn't want to risk starting any conversations here. Being in a confined space with him without being able to see him made her more acutely aware of his presence, somehow. She thought she could actually hear him breathing.

Just when she'd begun to relax, however, the lift stopped. As they exited . . . she felt that pressure of his hand disappear from the side of hers.

"Oh, _no_." Swallowing hard, she looked about.

The golden statues and the immense indoor fountain, the pillared doorways and twisting corridors . . . . She knew many things about the Ministry of Magic's resplendent ground floor were eye-catching, but this was _no_ time for curiosity!

Darting her gaze about, she hissed his name in a whisper. "Bucky?"

No answer.

Fantastic. She looked around, assuring herself no one was near enough to notice, and withdrew her wand. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent a light gust of wind billowing through the ground floor's main corridor. She kept up the breeze as she scanned the floor.

 _There!_ Heading toward the nearest of those beautiful golden sculptures she spotted a rippling effect in the air close to the floor. Just beneath it, a quick glimpse of the soles of black boots was visible.

Stowing her wand, she glanced about again as she hurried across to him. She could just picture him reaching up to touch one of the statues and the cloak falling away from his arm. Oh, the fun it would be explaining why she was chasing after a disembodied metal hand!

She collided with him, but recovered quickly—she wasn't at all certain if that was aided or complicated by the way he turned at the impact and caught her, managing to set her back on her feet. Sure, it was helpful to not let her fall hard on her bum, but if anyone had witnessed his moment of assistance, the way she had been suspended in the air for a second, there, would have raised eyebrows, for certain. Not to mention the problematic issue that she'd liked the way his hands had caught her around her hips as he'd righted her.

Not the time for curiosity, and certainly not the time for any of _that_ , either.

Clearing her throat as quietly as she could, she scolded him in a low, muttering voice. "What d'you think you're doing? I asked you to stay close to me!"

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice equally quiet, "I just . . . I know I don't remember much, but I feel like I've never seen anything like this place."

Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't mean to snap. _I'm_ the one who's sorry; I know this situation can't be easy on you, but this simply isn't the time to be wandering about, okay?"

He sighed, and she thought it a strangely petulant sound given his gruff appearance and, well, the whole Muggle military thing. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. Let's go," he said, once more touching the side of his hand to hers.

She held in a breath, knowing it was probably dangerous to wonder just how much stranger things could get, but unable to help the question from skittering across her mind, all the same.

As they made their way toward the exit, a pure-blood wizard in _truly_ ridiculous dress-robes came out of the lift and crossed the floor to enter one of the pillared doorways.

Hermione frowned, speaking preemptively. "Don't even think about it."

Bucky tried to feign innocence by remaining silent, but after a moment, he murmured, "Sorry."

Snickering in spite of herself, she shook her head and continued along. She grasped his hand in hers through the folds of the cloak—mysteriously vanished fingers, or no mysteriously vanished fingers—to ensure he was beside her the entire way.

. . . And perhaps just a little bit because she simply liked the feel of holding his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

After the near-disaster of trying to get him out of the Ministry, Hermione decided that perhaps it was best not to try her usual route home with Bucky in tow. Instead, she nipped them into a shadowed corner, away from prying Muggle eyes—oh, she knew it was said that Muggles didn't often believe what they saw when someone vanished or appeared right in front of them, but she was full-up on her share of risk-taking for one night.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to brace yourself, again," she said, casting a cursory glance about out of sheer caution.

He made no attempt to hide the discomfort in his voice as he asked, "Wait, again? You mean—?"

"It's the safest way, under the circumstances. Well, now that we've already done it once and it didn't scramble up your brain any more than it's already been."

"Gee, thanks."

She uttered a derisive snicker as she shook her head. "Sorry, didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Let's just do this," he responded with a resigned sigh.

Nodding, she lifted her wand—but then thought better on what she was doing. Like any witch worth their salt, she had an anti-apparition ward around her building, which meant they'd have to pop up on the front porch or in the courtyard 'round the back. There was a chance she'd be glimpsed by some passerby popping into existence out of thin air.

Bucky's brows shot up as he found the witch burrowing under the cloak to press herself tight against him. "Hello?"

Hermione forced out an awkward laugh. "Sorry, this was quite a bit easier to do when I was 12 and we were trying to fit three children under this thing. 'S not nearly as roomy as I remember."

Despite his irritation at being treated a bit like a child, himself, when they'd been inside, he couldn't help a chuckle at that—after all, he understood the necessity of it. And okay, he didn't hate being this close to her. "I'll bet."

Acutely aware of the way his voice had dropped, she felt her face warm a little. "Okay, um, let's just . . . ." She let her voice trail off as she Apparrated them to the sad, measly little excuse for a courtyard. Safer bet than the front porch when people might still be passing on the street, she'd decided.

"Wait," she said as he started to pull off the cloak.

"What? There's no one here."

"I know, but . . . windows." Resting her hands on his arms, she guided him to move with her until they were close enough to the building that no one would be able to see them pull off the cloak, no matter what angle they might have.

He tried not to be insulted at the way she just about jumped away from him as soon as she was out from under the cloak. After all, he might not remember very much about, well, anything, but he was pretty sure her reaction was more of a compliment than anything else.

Giving herself a little shake as she cleared her throat, she nodded toward the still-obscured soldier. "C'mon."

He obediently followed her into the building and up two flights of stairs to a door in the near-exact center of the corridor. If Bucky didn't know any better, he'd swear the placement of her apartment was a strategic choice. She was smack in the middle of the complex, the last place anyone would look for someone who was hiding—most assumed one would opt to be on the ground floor for a quick exit, or top floor to be away from those very same entry points yet with easy access to the roof. No, no. Her choice was definitely strategic, but it wasn't about a clean escape, it was about blending in.

"You're a soldier, too," he said, the murmured words slipping out thoughtlessly.

Hermione's spine stiffened as she unlocked her door and took a moment to dispel the repelling charms just inside—anyone who attempted to break in would suddenly find themselves with second thoughts and an irrepressible desire to exit her flat the moment they crossed the threshold. "Well, yes. I suppose I am."

Stepping aside, she swept her arm into the open doorway. "All right, then. In you go."

Nodding, though he knew she couldn't see the gesture, he stepped in. Only when she'd stepped in as well, and closed the door behind her, did he take off the Invisibility Cloak. "So, who are you hiding from?"

Meeting his gaze in the dim evening light of the living room as she reached for the switch, she paused. "Oh, um . . . ." Shrugging, she switched it on, flooding the space with soft illumination. "In a way, everyone."

His brows drew up in question, but he only watched her expression as he waited silently for a response.

"It's not a big deal, just my parents aren't magic-folk, and there's been more than one occasion I've had to fear for their safety on account of that, so I keep a distance from them." Frowning, she again shrugged as she walked over to set her wand down upon the fireplace mantle—one of the few charms that had sold her on the otherwise mundane building. "I go to _them_ for visits. They don't even know where I live, and though I know that's not easy for them, I've assured them that because of my work with the Ministry, it's simply safer for them. Even in the magical world, Harry and exes who were with me for substantial periods of time are the only ones who know where I live—so, it's, like, literally two or three other people who've set foot in my home aside from you."

He nodded, glancing about, at a loss for what to say next.

Hermione couldn't say she blamed him for feeling out of sorts; Bucky looked very out of place in his military gear, with his guns and glaring silver arm, standing in her _mundane_ living room. Well, that and she'd probably just furnished him with a bit more information than he was expecting.

An idea struck her, then. "Oh!"

Starting at her sudden shout, he pinned her with a wide-eyed look.

Unable to help a laugh at his response, she thought they should both be grateful he hadn't reflexively drawn a weapon upon being so startled. "Sorry, I just . . . I thought you should perhaps go take a shower? I think it's fair to say you've had an unusual afternoon by _either_ of our normal standards, freshening up a bit might help you to unwind. Maybe that might assist in you remembering something beyond your own name. While you're doing that, I'll fix us something to eat and peruse my bookcases for things that might help jog your memory."

His brows pinched together and his lower lip poked out a bit in a thoughtful expression. "Like magic spells?"

A smirk curved her mouth, she'd keep it to herself that the expression he wore was strangely adorable. Gruff, military experiment soldier-types weren't supposed to be adorable. "Or encyclopedias. We can see what world events you remember and work our way up from there."

"Right." He nodded, grinning sheepishly—but hey, who wouldn't be curious about all this magic stuff? Looking around, he opted to set his weapons on the mantle alongside her wand. "These will be safe here, right? You're not going to be tempted to play with them?"

"Absolutely not." At the way he blinked a few times over how sure she sounded, Hermione laughed. "Why? Would you be tempted to try my wand if I wasn't in the room?"

"Well, yeah."

Stifling any further laughter at the mental picture of him attempting to make her wand work—oh, the very thought of him getting that disgruntled look as he waved it this way and that, trying to figure out how to get it to cast a spell was too much—she shooed him in the direction of the bathroom door. "Go, already!"

Holding up his hands in a sign of surrender, he turned on his heel and did as he was told.

* * *

While Hermione opted for the simplicity of heating up a frozen pizza—normally that would be dinner for her for two or three nights, depending on how hungry she was, but she imagined the entire thing would be gone in one sitting on this particular evening—she got a hold of any books on her shelves that pertained to world history, and even what recent newspapers she had ,and set them out on the coffee table. And, well, she might've grabbed a book or two on magic to show Bucky. He was just so enthralled with her world, she couldn't help that she found his fascination endearing.

But then, he really didn't know his own world, either. Not at the moment. She sighed, shaking her head as she stared down at the collection of reading material she'd laid out. He didn't seem the type to be afraid of things, but she wondered if he was scared right now. Who wouldn't be to not recall anything about themselves?

 _"What the hell—?!"_

At Bucky's startled half-shout from the bathroom, Hermione was moving. She didn't even think before throwing open the door. "What?"

There the poor man stood, helplessly holding out his hand to fend off a spray of shaving cream from the dispenser in her tub. Bucky looked back at her over his shoulder, wincing. "Whatever it is, I think I broke it."

"Oh, no, the button just gets stuck, sometimes," she said as she slipped around him to check the device. Just as she reached into the tub, the spray died down to a fizzle and sputtered out. "And now I'm _out_ of shave gel."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what it was, I was staring at it the whole time. When I got out, I just—"

"Thought it wouldn't hurt to see what the button did?"

Wincing once more, Bucky shrugged as he nodded.

"It's fine, just have a bit of a mess to clean up now." Hermione sighed, looking at the flood of white foam everywhere, even on the bundle of black fabric he'd left on the floor. Which led her gaze in his direction and up . . . along his bare leg, over the towel he held around his hips with one hand, and up the lean, muscled lines of his torso and chest. His extended right arm that had been warding off the spray had taken the brunt of it.

"Oh, dear," she managed, feeling her skin flush at the sight of him. She'd been in such a hurry to stop the wonky dispenser before all of the product had been wasted—fat lot of good that had done her—that she'd not noticed his state of undress until after the commotion was over.

He was naked save for that towel and his skin and hair were still damp from the shower. She became very aware of the way his breathing slowed. Very aware of the uncertain look in his eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Um, it . . . it looks like you got some got on your clothes, too." Hermione didn't know how, but she forced herself to backpedal, putting distance between them. "I'll see if I can find you anything that might fit. Just don't press any more buttons on anything."

Once more, Bucky nodded, watching her as she turned toward the door. He'd clean this mess up, himself, once he was dressed. It was the least he could do, he'd decided.

She halted as she reached the threshold, unable to stop herself from asking, "Does it hurt?"

He frowned at her question. "Does what hurt?"

Hermione turned her head a little, but didn't actually look back at him. "Your left shoulder. The skin where it meets the metal looks burnt . . . scarred. I was wondering if it hurts. I know burns have a pain that comes and goes for years after the injury occurred, and you can feel that arm, so I was just wondering."

"Oh." His frame slumped a little and he turned his attention to the mirror. He examined the marks on his reflection with his gaze. "I . . . I didn't even notice."

He sounded lost. Broken. She wanted to kick herself for pointing it out, but how could she realize?

Turning around to face him, she grabbed a hand towel from the shelf by the door and crossed back to stand before him. Her gaze searching his, she gently wiped the foam from his skin.

"Whatever it is, whatever happened to you, wherever you should be," she said, a gentle, sympathetic smile curving her lips, "we'll figure it out."

Again, that adorable, almost puppy-eyed look of thoughtfulness tugged at his features. "Thank you."

Hermione nodded, taking care to keep her touch delicate whenever she brushed the scarred skin around his metal shoulder. He looked scared just now, and she had a strange awareness that _this_ was what frightened him most of all.

Not his memory loss, not being surrounded by things he didn't understand. But this. Someone being gentle with him. Unable to hold his gaze as her heart broke a bit with that notion, she lowered her attention to her hand moving over his skin.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, soft, as he rested his hand over hers, stopping her movements. "You look like you're crying."

"No, I'm not." Oh, she was a terrible liar. And it certainly didn't help that despite her cheeks being dry, her voice was thick with tears.

"Bullshit."

She sputtered out a laugh, sniffling as she finally brought her gaze back to his. "You caught me. I'm sorry, I just . . . I'm starting to think maybe I'm a terrible person."

His brows shot up. "What?"

"Well, I just said I'd help you get back to your life, but I might've been lying. I have this feeling that you'd be better off if you _didn't_ go back, and I don't know if it's because that's how I really feel, or if I'm talking myself into believing that for selfish reasons."

"You don't know me. _I_ don't know me." He snickered mirthlessly as he shook his head. "Hell, you literally found me lurking around the woods armed to the teeth. You've been treating me like I'm a 'good guy,' but what if I'm not?"

"I suppose you're right." Even as she agreed, though, she couldn't help but feel that wasn't true. "But I just have this sense that whatever you are, wherever you came from, you don't deserve the life you're in."

He found his gaze dropping to trace over her lips in spite of himself. "If it helps, you never _said_ you'd help me get back to where I came from."

Hermione's brow furrowed. As aware as she was of his attention shifting, she couldn't help questioning it. "Didn't I?"

"You said you'd help me get to wherever I should be."

"Oh." She nodded, rather suddenly cognizant of how close they stood, of his fingers still over hers and the mere fact that he was only clad in that towel.

After a few silent heartbeats—could she have understood that distinction perfectly when she'd first said it and simply not actually realized what she was saying?—his nostrils flared and he tore his gaze from hers to look around. "Is something burning?"

She gasped, immediately extracting her hand from his and stumbling toward the bathroom door. "Oh, my God! I forgot about the pizza!"

Bucky shook his head as he watched the frazzled witch disappear from the room. His words to her weren't just cautionary for her sake, but for his own, too.

What if he _wasn't_ a good guy?


End file.
